Whipped
by Nyte Quill
Summary: "I am not your horse, Mr. Blythe." when Gilbert let the riding crop fly and Anne felt the sting through the layers of clothing, she felt something else too. complete... for now. this is based on the movies, not the books.


The flowers and dew-slick grass that lined the lane created an earthy perfume, but nothing rivaled the essence of the fiery beauty standing before him. They'd been walking along discussing her misery over being published for an advertisement, when he had expressed his candid thoughts about her story. Judging solely from reaction, one might have thought he'd insulted her child rather than pointed out the faults in her fiction.

She practically sniffed her dismissive disapproval and tossed her comment over her shoulder as she started to walk away. "I don't share your opinion."

Gilbert wasn't thinking straight. If he were, he'd never have done it.

But Anne had the ability to make him ignore reason, abandon sense, and lose himself in action without thought. The whip whistled softly through the air before he realized he'd moved, and it lashed squarely across her backside with a pronounced thwack!

She stiffened, and he swallowed. Then she turned, fire flashing in those brilliant hazel eyes of hers, and a blush blooming across her cheeks. She was stunning when she was angry.

"I am not your _horse_ Mr. Blythe!"

"I was... just trying to give you a bit of friendly advice."

Her tone was breathy but disbelieving, and the quiver it held sent a delicious shiver down his spine. "Is that so?"

* * *

The facts were these. Gilbert had been half in love with Anne the day they'd met. He'd fallen the rest of the way when she smashed her slate over his head.

He didn't know why, but for him, love and pain went hand in hand. They always had, when his mother paddled him for being naughty, or his father had taught him to box and sent him through a stable wall by accident. During Josie's first kiss with him, she'd been so enthusiastic she bit his lip. The taste of blood had nearly undone him, but Josie had been all flustered apologies and teary eyes and they hadn't kissed again. She was wonderful at ordering him around, but he chafed under her bossiness as much as he craved it.

After Anne shattered a piece of his world, his daydreams had turned to obeying the orders of a certain redheaded temptress. Listening to anything she cared to say in that melodious voice of hers. Watching her eyes flare with emerald when she got really worked up. Kneeling at her feet and lavishing attention on the hollows behind her knees.

What Gilbert didn't know - _couldn't_ know - was that Anne had thoughts of a similar... slant. Buried beneath the fluffy layers of romantic twill she kept stuffed in her head, lay a dark chocolate layer of sinful somethings she tried never to think about. But in the middle of the night, when she couldn't think of anything else to think about, they tumbled out of the cabinet she locked them in and ran rampant through the fields of her mind.

She loved the smell of chalk and leather and freshly washed linen, but these things were not normal in her dreams. She thought of making boys write "I am stupid, Anne is wonderful" over and over on boards while they stood in their pants. She felt soft cotton strips between her fingers as she blindfolded and bound someone tightly; if that someone often had windblown raven curls, she never dwelled on it. She felt the warm weight of a leather whip in her palm, and heard the whistle as she let it fly, and somehow knew the shudder of the recoil where it struck and the metallic scent from the line of blood it drew.

And when Gilbert struck her with his riding crop- honestly they were _forever_ arguing- a thrill had raced up her spine like an electric spark. She'd gone stock still to assess how she felt about it, to see if he did anything else. Everything in her had gone tight like a bowstring, from the skin around her eyes to the nipples beneath her dress, from her fingers on the basket handle to the space between her thighs. Her toes had even curled in her boots.

In her dreams, _she'd_ always been the one in control- an element so often lacking in her waking life. But the concept of relinquishing control to someone else, and actually enjoying the exchange? That was something wholly foreign... and something she knew she'd have to try someday.

**A/N: you know the deal. whether you liked it or not, let me know below.**

**also, this was imagined as a T-rated oneshot. if it continued, it might go to M. any interest?**

**A/N2: edited and hopefully improved. and to clarify, this is based on Megan Followes and Jonathan Crombie in the movie series. **


End file.
